


Look at us both

by ununpentium



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Scandal In Belgravia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununpentium/pseuds/ununpentium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Irene. God, have you seen yourselves? Standing opposite each other like you were makes it hard not to notice how similar you two are. Like mirror images. I hope you’ll be happy together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look at us both

**Author's Note:**

> A mini scene to fit in after Sherlock decodes Irene's email, and before Irene and Sherlock have the conversation about Coventry (trying to be vague because of spoilers, but if you haven't seen A Scandal in Belgravia yet then this won't make much sense and it will give some of the dialogue away).

Sherlock came sweeping in to 221b to find John definitely _not_ where he told Sherlock he would be. Or, more precisely, not where Sherlock told him to be, but that’s just semantics. Sherlock swiftly removed his coat and scarf, folded them over the back of his chair and took the stairs two at a time to John’s bedroom.

At the sound of Sherlock’s footsteps, John sat upright on his bed and wiped his eyes. He tried to school his face into a neutral expression, but he could feel his jaw still clenching. Damn it.

“John? You were supposed to be waiting for me with the print outs of the flight manifesto. We don’t have much time.” Sherlock thrust the bedroom door open and froze when he saw John. The evidence of John’s unhappiness was writ all over him; it was practically leaping out at Sherlock.

Sherlock cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “John?”

John laughed coldly. It was not his usual laugh, the one that Sherlock had filed away and replayed when he was missing John. This laugh made Sherlock feel wrong, like someone had replaced John and the comfort he brought with an imposter.

“I told you downstairs. Hamish would make an excellent baby name.”

Sherlock replayed the past few hours in his head for clarification. Oh, there it was. _Hamish. John Hamish Watson. Just, if you were looking for baby names_. It did not make sense at the time; it was not relevant to Sherlock’s conversation with Irene so he had dismissed it.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly. “Why would I be looking for baby names?”

“You and Irene. God, have you seen yourselves? Standing opposite each other like you were makes it hard not to notice how similar you two are. Like mirror images. I hope you’ll be happy together.”

Sherlock felt like he had been punched in the gut. _I hope you’ll be happy together_. John last said that in reference to Moriarty. No, no no. This was all _wrong_.

“She told me she flirted at you, but you never replied,” John stared down at his hands; he was clenching and unclenching his fists. “I said that you’d outlive God trying to have the last word. It made her special, Sherlock. She asked me if it made me jealous.”

Sherlock sat down beside John on the bed, wanting to take John’s hands in-between his own. He wasn’t sure if John would welcome physical touch and Sherlock did not want to cause any more hurt towards John.

“I know. I heard it all, John.” Sherlock whispered.

“She knew, Sherlock. About us. I told her we weren’t a couple, that I wasn’t gay, but I could see it in her eyes. She knew.”

This was all wrong. Sherlock felt knotted up inside, everything was turning upside down and it felt so horrible inside of his head.

“John, look at me,” Sherlock guided John’s face towards his with gentle fingers. “The fact that I did not reply to her does not make her special. It makes _you_ special. You said yourself that I always have the last word, so the fact that I have never replied to Irene means that you hold the most importance in my life, John.”

John closed his eyes and let out a ragged breath. Sherlock put his arms around John, stroking small circles onto John’s back and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I know Irene is important to you, Sherlock. I’m not stupid.”

“But _nothing_ will be more important than to me than you are. Nothing. You have to trust me, John.”

John opened his eyes at stared into Sherlock’s until he felt his own eyes watering with the need to blink.

“I trust you. God, don’t let me down, Sherlock.”


End file.
